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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664173">Analogies of Faith</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovingLovelyLoners/pseuds/LovingLovelyLoners'>LovingLovelyLoners</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crowley's relationship with God, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Thunderstorms, guess what it's a two for one fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:34:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovingLovelyLoners/pseuds/LovingLovelyLoners</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Angel, I've loved you for thousands of years, a couple of damning words doesn't change that."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley loves Aziraphale. Aziraphale loves Crowley, and he also loves God.<br/>This isn't a problem, until a thunderstorm rolls through the South Downs and reminds Crowley that they can't trust Her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Analogies of Faith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is 1:55am, and Crowley is in their room, in their bed. As always, it's comforting to know that, to have the reminder that this is theirs, that they have gotten this far. But tonight, it's not comforting enough.</p><p>He knows Aziraphale is downstairs, reading instead of sleeping. Well, he said he might join Crowley, but given that Aziraphale had thumbed open his well-worn copy of <em>The Selfish Giant </em>as Crowley climbed upstairs, he had already resigned himself to a night without the angel curled around him.</p><p>That is, until it started.</p><p>This constant, pounding <em>thumpthumpthump </em>of heavy droplets on the roof. The wood of the well-loved house creaking loudly with each new pulse of wind. The cruel crack of lightning that strikes so close that it clouds his thoughts with—<em>what if it hits us—what if it hurts him—what if it never stops?</em></p><p>Material reality is normally happy to bend to Crowley’s will, but even demons can’t control the weather. Which Crowley <em>hates</em>.</p><p>Not only because he doesn’t have time to get his corporation under control in the split second between a painfully loud <em>BOOM</em> of thunder and the startling flood of <em>fearadrenalinePANIC</em> that violently courses through him. But also because it feels like God is pouring salt into his ever-present wounds, making sure he still knows that She can and<em> will </em>take everything away from him, if She happens to feel like it. That he always has been, and always will be, completely <em>fucking</em> powerless against Her.</p><p>
  <em>SATAN—bloody FUCK—!!</em>
</p><p>Another flash of pale light fills the room, a deafening <em>CRASH </em>coming half a second later. Crowley bolts upright in the bed, breath coming fast and harsh, immediately attempting to bully his body to <em>stop fucking trembling. </em>But being in this <em>stupid fucking corporation </em>means he’s stuck with it’s limitations, especially when it decides to send <em>fearfearFEAR </em>through him, because that’s exactly what She has always wanted, isn’t it? For him to suffer. For him to be alone and<em> terrified</em>.</p><p>For him to love with his <em>entire fucking being,</em> only to have that love ripped away in the most painful way she can possibly—</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>Crowley sucks in a breath, then chokes on it, eyes darting towards Aziraphale as he flicks on the bedside lamp.</p><p>“Yeah. Hey,” Crowley replies, the smallest bit of comfort running through him before he registers Aziraphale’s concerned expression.</p><p>“You okay angel?” Crowley asks, turning towards him.</p><p>“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale says, his frown deepening. “But are you alright, my dear?”</p><p>Crowley opens his mouth to shrug it off, but thinks better of it. If he says it’s nothing, Aziraphale will push, and if he pushes, Crowley will end up saying something about Her and it’ll be a whole <em>thing</em> and he just can’t do that right now, he <em>can’t.</em></p><p>“I just don’t like storms,” he mutters, opting for the half-truth in hopes that Aziraphale will drop it and come to bed so Crowley can cling to him.</p><p>It’s just then that another white hot burst of electricity strikes the ground, an angry <em>SNAP</em> of sound reverberating through the house. Crowley’s body jolts in alarm and his hands are tugging at his hair before he can stop them.</p><p>“Nope, never mind,” he says, a quiver in his voice. “Love storms. Love ‘em. Can’t get enough, this is a <em>lovely</em> experience.”</p><p>It’s supposed to sound sarcastic, but it falls flat, eyes too focused on the decades-old Japapese Maple that came with the house. <em>‘Cause it would take impossibly strong wind to put that thing out of the ground, but the branches? It’s already bad enough out there to rip one out, send it careening into the bedroom, shatter the glass, push a sword-sized piece directly into-</em></p><p>And it’s—it’s their—it’s his bloody <em>fault</em>, he’s known this whole time that if they got discorporated they’d be <em>fucked</em>, that She never would have protected them, letting them get away with the body swap. <em>No, no, </em>it’s another fucking <em>game,</em> another fucking <em>setup,</em> another fucking <em>knife</em> in his back.</p><p>He’s <em>tried</em>, he’s tried so<em> fucking </em>hard to remember—<em>I don’t get to keep this, this happiness, this love, it’s fragile, it’s temporary, we get the ‘happy until it’s taken away,’ not the happily ever after. But please—fuck, it hasn’t even been that long, barely a full year.</em></p><p><em>What if—</em>they’re the ethereal equivalent to dead men walking. <em>What if this is it?</em></p><p>Crowley attention shifts to the gentle dip in the bed beneath him, angelic body heat bringing him back to reality as he loosens his hands from his hair and looks into those soft blue eyes.</p><p>“Sorry,” Crowley mumbles, feeling like an idiot for being so nervous, feeling so out-of-control.</p><p>“No need for apology,” Aziraphale says, voice warm and low. His hand is a soft pressure on Crowley’s thigh, and then Crowley’s hand is sliding up his arm, leaning forward, pressing their lips together.</p><p>His body starts its silent plea for <em>more</em> as soon as Aziraphale is kissing him back, sliding his empty hand around Crowley’s waist, pulling him in closer. These are not fevered kisses, no, Crowley fills them with a quieter kind of need. A little less ‘<em>you make me feel alive,</em>’ a little more <em>‘I’m not alive without you.’</em></p><p><em>Because</em> <em>if it’s the last—</em>Whatever happens. He’d been honest, that day, so soon after what wasn’t the end of the world. Back when the ghost of burning book smoke still made it hard to breathe in the newly-restored shop.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It had been a decadent evening at The Ritz, a night spent drunk and giddy on the thought of freedom in this brilliant, not-destroyed world, with his gorgeous, not-hostage-to-heaven angel. So of course he’d had to go on and bugger it up. Just couldn’t keep his blessed mouth shut when Aziraphale jokingly blamed their over-indulgence on Crowley’s demonic influence, no.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I was an angel once,” he responded. It just slipped out, this tiny reminder of that unbearably painful moment, trying to cover up the memory with inept, transparent humor. Crowley immediately changed the topic, attempting to distract them both from the events of the last week, but Aziraphale’s hands had started fidgeting in his lap, eyes away from Crowley.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“I love you,” Crowley says, breaking their kiss to breathe the words against Aziraphale’s lips, chasing them into the angel’s mouth, tasting it on his smile.</p><p>“Love you,” he repeats as soon as their lips part again. That smile grows wider.</p><p>“And I love you,” Aziraphale says, his earnest eyes locking with Crowley’s in the low light. He feels his heart clench, and knows with sudden certainty that he will think back to this moment, over and over and over again. This sound of rain hitting the roof, this rumble of angry earth—burned into his memory, right alongside an overwhelmingly intense love, this feeling that transmutes his terror into trust.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The conversation lulled—or, rather, Crowley had finished his point, but rather than being distracted, Aziraphale looked even more like he was bracing for attack, vibrating hands now holding his seat cushion in a vice grip. A familiar sense of guilt swept through Crowley, an apology already climbing up his constricted throat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry,”Aziraphale said, unexpectedly beating Crowley to the punch. “I mean—there’s—it’s that…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You don’t have to apologize,” Crowley said, testing the waters. Aziraphale shook his head, finally looking back up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I do,” Aziraphale said. “After…that day, I swore to myself that if we somehow made it out alive, and life went mostly back to normal, that. Well. That I should. Say certain things.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He had looked away from Crowley again, head dropping down, eyes squeezing shut, each breath coming sooner than the last. Even during the last week, Crowley had never seen Aziraphale undone like this. Sure, he’d been as unhinged as Crowley at the airbase, at many times throughout their shared history, but never in the bookshop. Never in his home, surrounded by his books, his tea, his comforts. Surrounded by Crowley’s love for him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crowley had gestured, wanting him to go on, but Aziraphale was clearly still trying to get his corporation under control. Crowley felt his heart beat faster.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“W-“ Aziraphale starts, but another thunderous <em>BANG </em>interrupts him, and Crowley jerks away, leaning back and pushing himself out of the bed, pacing sharp steps around it.</p><p>“We need to—We can’t just—wards. Wards? Can that? I mean—it won’t help, not really, but if we’re going to discorporate anyway we may as well do it in peace.” <em>That one struck close, it was too close, could have hit the property, heaven, the garden might be on fire and She’d like that, wouldn’t She, destroying it piece by piece, making me watch everything I care about burn before I’m pushed over the edge.</em></p><p>“We’re not going to discorporate, dear.”</p><p>“We <em>could,</em>” Crowley insists. “And if we <em>do,”</em> His voice ratchets up in pitch, the dry scratch of his throat cutting him off before he can put their inescapable doom into words.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You’re starting to scare me a little,” Crowley said, a nervous laugh butting out of him to try and release the palpable tension between them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did I do something?” He asked, more seriously. “I mean, besides the obvious. Whatever it is, I didn’t mean it, any of it, I wouldn’t have…well. You know I wouldn’t have left.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The ‘without you’ remained unspoken.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“We won’t,” Aziraphale says, impossibly gentle, yet leaving no room for argument. "This is, without a doubt, the most secure household in the South Downs, if not the entire country. We’ve made sure of that. It would take Heaven and Hell considerable force to break in, some bad weather isn’t going to hurt us.”</p><p>The wind is whipping a chaos against the roof now, drumming countless debris into the surface. Crowley stares at him, a look of consternation temporarily outweighing the panic.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Oh,” Aziraphale said, words light, processing. “No, it’s not that.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then what’s wrong?” Crowley asked quickly, wanting this moment of stress to end. Aziraphale took a long, steadying breath in, and let it out with a shudder, eyes imploring Crowley to listen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Firstly,” Aziraphale said, somehow both shaky and firm. “I am sorry for the prejudice I’ve carried throughout our friendship, and for all of the many times I have disregarded our relationship and your kindness to—let me finish, Crowley—your kindness to me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crowley’s pointed look softened a little at the words, a suppressed hint of a smile and the raise of an eyebrow finding their way across his face, his body loosening back into his chair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And,” Aziraphale said. “I also decided, I thought, perhaps, that I should admit that, to me, our relationship extends beyond friendship. The way people put it, that is, that I have feelings for you, and care for you in a far deeper sense than just friendship.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>“Angel, you know as well as I do that She gets what She wants,” Crowley says, speaking as quietly as he can without being overpowered by the commotion outside.</p><p>It had been on the first drive to their new home, the Bentley stuffed with a collection of books Aziraphale refused to let leave his sight, that Aziraphale had told him about how things were run in Heaven. Crowley, a being that could use <em>miracles</em> in his already <em>near-sentient car</em>, had become so enraged at this new information that he felt the need to pull over.</p><p>She had created humans, and then what? Decided that everyone else never mattered, whether or not they fell? That she was the only eternal being that wasn’t subject to constant cruelty and conformity? Crowley was fallen, he had accepted that a long time ago, even if he hadn’t meant to. But keeping her love forever just out of reach to those who still had faith in her goodness? Dangling Her love in front of Aziraphale, but never responding to his calls?</p><p>It was one thing to be an angry God, to be vengeful and quick-tempered, to push Her children out of Heaven to fend for themselves before they could even understand what was happening. It was something entirely different to stretch a<em> lie</em> out over<em> six millennia </em>without remorse, to call Heaven a reward when it was really just a prison with shiny white walls. She was <em>malicious </em>to let angels laugh in the face of Aziraphale’s kindness, to make him think that he <em>deserved</em> to be mistreated.</p><p>Even if Aziraphale still doesn’t understand that, even if he never will, Crowley will love him. But, Crowley will also never stop calling Her out on <em>abuse</em>, even if Aziraphale doesn’t see it that way.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Aziraphale was tensed again, eyes darting away and back towards Crowley, unconsciously attempting to measure his reaction amidst the panic. Crowley, for his part, spent a few seconds in shock, taken entirely off-guard, and opened his mouth to respond only to be cut off by the flood of words coming from a highly distressed Aziraphale.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s not that I expect you to return the sentiment, not at all, it’s simply that, well, that I’ve grown to love you in a rather romantic way in addition to the fully platonic interest that we have in each other, so truly, I do hope you won’t think less of me, but I wanted to be honest with you, moving forward. I am perfectly capable of—well, I assure you that nothing in our relationship has to change.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crowley blinked in shock, his mind going temporarily useless as it processed the unexpected and life-changing admission. Eventually, he was able to register Aziraphale shrinking back, putting as much distance between them as he could without walking away, and no, no that wasn’t right at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crowley braced his hands on his seat, wanting to get closer, to make Aziraphale understand, but, no, that wasn’t right either. Fuck. Crowley was fucking this up too, wasn’t he? Fuck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It felt wrong to stand, not while Aziraphale’s eyes were fixed on the ground, his well-manicured nails digging angry half-moons into his skin. So Crowley met him where he was, moving to the floor in front of Aziraphale’s feet, wary blue eyes flicking up as Crowley settled on to his knees.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, angel, it’s alright,” he’d said, folding a gentle hand through Aziraphale’s vice grip on himself. He loosened the hold, took one of Aziraphale’s hands in both of his and, very deliberately, brought it to his face to place a kiss over the knuckles. Aziraphale stayed quiet, Crowley breaking the intense eye contact as he smiled sheepishly at their hands with an affectionate breath of laughter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, warm breath tickling between their fingers. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>*****</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“She has only ever wanted to hurt you. Me. Us.”</p><p>Surprisingly, Aziraphale seems to actually consider this, his frown deepening a touch, and then stands to meet Crowley next to their bed. Even more surprisingly, Crowley can’t see any of the hurt indignation that Aziraphale had worn the last time this came up. He’d expected to see frustration to mirror his own, disappointment, maybe even a sliver of fear if he’d managed to get through to the angel.</p><p>Instead, Aziraphale watches Crowley’s face the same way he’d watch a Shakespearean tragedy, like Crowley’s said something terribly sad and immensely gracious all the same. Crowley doesn’t want that, but he doesn’t know what he <em>does</em> want either. Just knows that this <em>hurts</em>, that <em>there isn’t time for this.</em></p><p>“I would hardly say that,” Aziraphale says. He keeps his tone steady, keeps his eyes soft, trusting. They both know this is dangerous territory.</p><p>But Aziraphale has never been as solid as he tries to sound. He’s being tentative now <em>f</em>or <em>Crowley’s </em>sake, hesitant, like he wants to touch, but thinks Crowley will push him away. The guilt is instantaneous.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Crowley waited for a look of shocked delight, hopeful that the rare and beautiful expression of Aziraphale’s untainted joy would quickly wipe away the complex Thing that was passing over his face instead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“…What?” Aziraphale finally asked, confusion unfaltering as he started looking at Crowley in earnest. “Why?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Why?” Crowley repeated, amused grin widening. “What d’you mean, why?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I—I mean,” Aziraphale faltered, clearly caught off-guard, expression falling as he thought. “As I mentioned, I have frequently mistreated you. Just this week I said I didn’t like you, and I used your demonic nature to imply that you weren’t trustworthy. I said we weren’t friends.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Crowley took a moment to choose his words, shifting up and shooting a pointed look at Aziraphale’s chair until it widened enough for him to sit comfortably next to the angel. Aziraphale’s eyes tracked the movement, the fallout of his intense emotions starting to show in the sag of his shoulders, pushed into the plush chair for support as he faced Crowley sitting beside him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Angel, I've loved you for thousands of years, a couple of damning words doesn't change that."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But that doesn’t make up for the rest of it,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley shook his head, running a hand through his hair, the barest hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, but Aziraphale. How many times I’ve been blamed for horrible feats of humanity? How many times I’ve been told someone doesn’t like me? How many people have assumed they can’t trust me? Thousands. Thousands and thousands, probably hundreds of thousands by now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aziraphale winced.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ngk, that’s not—what I’m trying to say here is that I’m used to that, right? That’s happening to me no matter what. But who else would believe me if I told them that humans mostly do their evil themselves? How many other beings would dare to say that I’m kind, of all things? We saw Eden together, the arc—you were the only being in existence that would have tried to cheer me up after Sodom and Gomorra, after the Spanish Inquisition, Aziraphale, it’s you. It’s always been you, even if you never wanted to say it out loud.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aziraphale blinked, Crowley’s perspective filtering its way through old memories.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Really?” Aziraphale asked, the realization already pushing through his body.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah,” Crowley breathed, warm relief spreading through him. “And that’s not even—I love you, I love you because you insist on boiling water for tea, but you’ll use a miracle to keep it warm. Because you still act like going out for sushi is something indulgent and devious in the 21st century, because you actually, really enjoy dressing like it’s the 19th century. I’ve found you fascinating since Eden, you…you have this instinct hat has nothing to do with being an angel, and as soon as you could, you followed it, and—Satan, this is sappy, do I need to keep going?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Aziraphale’s tentative smile had been growing the longer Crowley went on, his body finally relaxing a little closer into him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I will admit, this is not at all what I expected,” Aziraphale said, a hint of surprise still in his voice. If there was also the slightest watery wobble to the words, a little shine in his eyes to match Crowley’s, Crowley did not point it out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I--“ Aziraphale started, once again cutting himself off with a disbelieving huff of laughter. “I don’t know what to say, I—I could list off the reasons I love you until the end of time, I feel like I should thank you, I apologize, I know I’m being rather silly right now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You could kiss me,” Crowley suggested. Aziraphale’s gaze immediately flicked down to his lips, then back up in silent question. Crowley brought them just the slightest bit closer, Aziraphale closed the distance between them, and for the first time, they kissed.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>*****</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley wants to be angry, but he’s just confused. And exhausted. Fear, hurt, the strain of his voice over the ongoing storm, all of it chokes him, and he doesn’t understand. And Aziraphale is so close. He’s so close, and Crowley <em>knows</em> that he loves him, but he doesn’t make <em>sense</em>, not when it comes to this, andhe<em> just</em>. <em>Needs.</em></p><p>Crowley lets himself slump forward, not touching Aziraphale, but coming into his space, silently asking for <em>Aziraphale</em>, for his angel, for his love. Aziraphale is wonderfully, beautifully in tune with Crowley, circling his hands around Crowley’s waist, pulling him in, letting Crowley breathe in his cotton-fluff hair.</p><p>“Oh, Crowley,” he says, taking a slightly shuddery inhale of his own. "I'm sorry, I know this is difficult for you ."</p><p>Aziraphale’s hand is running a soothing line up and down Crowley’s back, and he can feel his heartbeat slowing, increment by increment.</p><p>“S’okay angel,” Crowley says, nosing into the skin on Aziraphale’s neck, letting the soft give of his cheek cushion against a sharp jaw.</p><p>“I just can’t understand how you <em>still</em> trust Her,” Crowley says. Aziraphale pauses.</p><p>“My faith has changed,” Aziraphale admits. “I’ve come to believe that She has been testing us as well."</p><p>It's definitely something that Crowley has considered, but hearing it from Aziraphale is entirely new, and it's clearly taking effort for him to get the words out. Crowley stays quiet, curious. </p><p>"What we've shared," Aziraphale continues. "<em>That</em> is what tells me that She loves us. Because it <em>feels</em> like Her, and simply following Heaven’s orders never did.”</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley starts, failing to process all of <em>that</em> at once. “So you don’t trust Her?” </p><p>“I do trust Her. But not because I think She is harmless, or kind, or even careful. I trust Her because She has always given us the chance to survive what She throws at us, and to become better for it.”</p><p>Crowley looks at him with a mix of fondness and skepticism, then nods to himself, and moves back onto the bed. The rain is still pounding on the roof, a steady beat above them. A tentative smile starts to erase some of the concern on Aziraphale’s face, and when Crowley pats a space on the bed, Aziraphale climbs in, wrapping grateful arms around Crowley’s waist.</p><p>They hold each other, the bed slowly warming to their bodies, as soft hands stroke a gentle pattern into cool skin.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Crowley finally says, keeping his tone light. “We’ll see if my garden survives the night.” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at that, Crowley just pulls him in a little tighter.</p><p>“Don’t know,” Crowley repeats, a little softer now, pressing the words into Aziraphale’s neck. “I don’t think—don’t know what to think, really. She doesn’t try to make sense. But I don’t want Her to get in the way of <em>us</em>. Not anymore.”</p><p>“Not anymore,” Aziraphale agrees, nuzzling into Crowley’s hair.</p><p> </p><p>There is a wall clock directly in Crowley’s line of sight, so he can read the time without moving out of their embrace. It is 2:31am, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep. The rain is still coming down in a constant stream. A crack of lightning could still light up the house, a gust of wind could still break through the window. When Aziraphale closes his eyes, Crowley watches over the steady rise and fall of his stomach, breath coming slow, and then even slower once he’s asleep in Crowley’s arms.</p><p>It is 3:45am, and there has been no lightning, no great swathes of wind. There had been a bright light in the window for a few seconds, but Crowley’s pretty sure that it was headlights driving down the road, because there has been no thunder either. No sound at all, besides unwavering droplets hitting the roof, no motion except for Aziraphale’s consistent inhale and exhale. Crowley idly attempts to sync their breathing, enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressing out and sinking into each other with each breath.</p><p>It is 4:07am, but Crowley can’t see that. Two minutes ago, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss over Aziraphale’s shoulder, closing his eyes out of habit, but forgot to open them again. Now, he tells himself <em>I’ll say awake, I’ll just keep my eyes closed until I hear something.</em></p><p>Seven hours later, they are both still in bed, and <em>definitely</em> awake. Aziraphale is sucking a bruise into his neck, Crowley is smoothing his hands over <em>skin, skin, skin</em> as they move together, their room shining in the light of day.</p><p>Nine hours later, they are both in the garden. Even though no lightning struck anywhere on the property, the storm has clearly sent the greenery into disarray. Crowley is miracling water out of the flooded soil, resetting vines and supports, and making an example out of any plants whose roots couldn’t stay in the ground with the force of the wind. Aziraphale whispers a dandelion that Crowley is only angry because he was scared, and not long after, the garden is radiating love and beauty again, even more so than yesterday.</p><p>Eight years later, in the same house, in the same garden, Crowley looks proudly over at a tree that he doesn’t remember planting.</p><p>Normally, he wouldn’t stand for an uninvited plant of any kind. But, years ago, he’d seen a little sprout in the corner, and had luckily realized what it was before he’d had the chance to unceremoniously rip it out of the ground.</p><p>It wasn’t interfering with the rest of the garden, and he’d always thought it might be nice to have fruit growing, maybe for Aziraphale to bake with. So Crowley just told it that it better be well-behaved, and that it better make sure no one else got any ideas about showing up in his garden unannounced. He’d also made a point to ask the little sprout where it came from, because as far as he knew, none of their neighbors raised their own trees, and the fruit in the market had seeds that couldn’t possibly grow in this climate. The sprout, like all of his plants, could not respond to him in words, and simply stood up a bit straighter, it’s twiggy branches moving in slightly, as if to look up at him.</p><p>Now, the sprout is a tree, it’s twigs are branches, and Crowley can bite into it’s fruit, marveling at the crisp sweetness. He can offer some to Aziraphale, who will give him the <em>wily old serpent</em> look, and then take a bite of his own, eyes lighting up at the flavor.</p><p>Maybe he will take it’s seeds and plant an entire orchard, or maybe they will sell the house off to a human family in a few years, and he will never think of the tree again. Maybe Crowley will miracle the tree into something that never dies, and the angel and demon will enjoy it’s fruit for eternity. But even if it takes Crowley an eternity to believe it, they have earned that choice, and they have earned their happiness. It is theirs to enjoy, until the end of time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Using a common understanding of the Crowley/Aziraphale dynamic to frame this fic in order to give it depth and ask the reader to consider how they partition their ability to understand others, because what one is feeling in the present moment is always distorting the past into a perspective that does not account for everything? Or, ADHD brain couldn't concentrate if not overly convoluted fuck it lets write two fics at the same time? </p><p>You decide.</p><p>Here's hoping that I've left you with your heart warmed and your mind curious, rather than just confused.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p></blockquote></div></div>
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